Not Enough
by CassandraRoseCrane
Summary: They couldn't make one another happy no matter how hard they tried.


-1x Not Enough

The house was so silent that her husband could hear the quiet sound of paper rustling from where he was standing in the upstairs hall. He followed the noise down the stairs until he came to the living room.

As expected, when he stepped apprehensively into the room, he found her sitting in an armchair, flipping through a familiar binder. He stood there for a minute, watching her wearily as she studied with rapt attention the object he had come to despise. Her back was partially to him, so she didn't see him standing in the doorway, probably because she was so absorbed in what she was doing. He wondered for a minute if it would be best to leave before she saw him lingering there, staring at her, but something caused him to step forward towards her anyway.

She became aware of his presence as he moved into the room; he could tell that she knew he was there because her shoulders tensed slightly and her grip on the binder tightened. However, she didn't look up to acknowledge him. Instead, her pen continued moving as she wrote something in her flowing handwriting on one of the pages in the Book.

She had changed from her black velvet gown to pajamas made from a soft-looking, lilac-colored material. Her pedicured feet were bare and she had taken her makeup off. To him, there was hardly a difference between the dress she had worn to the benefit and her more casual attire now. Though he had always thought her beautiful, he had long ago become indifferent to her appearance when she dressed up. He supposed that he had been exposed to the sight of her in the finest clothing so many times that at some point he had simply ceased to be impressed by it.

One of his clearer memories from the benefit earlier that night was of her entering his arms unexpectedly and starting to dance with him, calling him "darling" and looking up at him with that gentle expression on her face, the look that had been directed at him often in the past, which he had not received in some time. In his drunken haze, he had been happily surprised, wondered if it was possible that something had changed and that there was a chance things would get better between them. But looking at her then, with his mind clear, he knew that he had been wrong. He vaguely remembered saying things that had offended someone just before she intercepted him; the way she acted towards him after that had probably been her way of trying to distract him so she could do her best to save face.

"Miranda, are you coming to bed?" He mustered up the resolve to ask after she still refused to acknowledge him, trying to sound as humble and unobtrusive as possible.

She flipped a page in the Book. "Later," she replied coolly, without glancing up from the layout she was studying.

He looked down on her with a mixture of feelings. Though it angered him when she ignored him in favor of her work, something inside of him was also tired of fighting, tired of years of always competing with her career for her attention- and failing miserably at gaining it more often that not. At that moment, he wasn't sure whether he would rather argue with her about what had happened earlier that night, or simply go upstairs with her and hope that when they went to bed, she would curl up by his side and welcome his arm around her, the way she used to do. Unfortunately, it seemed that the latter was out of the question at the moment. "Good, because I'd like to talk to you when you do."

"Oh?" She murmured, her attention clearly not focused on him as she began to write a note on the new page she was studying.

"Yes. I hope you'll come upstairs soon. There was something I wanted to say about what happened at the benefit-"

She finally looked up from the Book, which would have been a welcome thing to him, except that when she did, the stormy blue slits her eyes had narrowed into behind her reading glasses seemed to pierce through him as she viewed him with extreme loathing. "I said _later_."

"All right." He shook his head to himself, unable to stop the bitter statement that flew from his mouth. "You probably still wonder why I allowed myself to get as drunk as I did tonight, and how I could dare to embarrass you in front of those people. The reason is right in front of you." He turned on his heel to leave the room, knowing that it would be impossible to say anything more with her in the mood she was in.

She slammed the book shut with a loud thud and allowed it to slide off of her lap on to the chair as she stood up. She removed her glasses and placed them on top of the Book. He had finally gained her undivided attention. He halted in surprise when he heard her get up and turned to face her again. When she spoke, her voice was louder than before, but still nothing near to being over her normal speaking voice. "And _you_ probably still wonder why I devote so much time to my work, why I'm always so busy. The reason is you. Whenever we are together, your behavior, in one way or another, always turns out to be intolerable," she spoke, her voice full of venom.

His face paled slightly as he listened to her, but he refused to show any further reaction. There was no way he would let her know how much her words had hurt him. If there was one thing she couldn't tolerate, it was weakness, be it on her part or that of someone else.

Her mouth turned up into a cruel, mocking smile when she realized that she had rendered him speechless. "What's wrong, Stephen? You were anxious to speak with me just a minute ago. Now you appear to be at a loss for words." She looked every inch the ice queen as she stood regally, one hand resting on the arm of the chair, her chin jutting into the air and a snide expression on her face, waiting for him to respond.

"Then I guess this means we're at cross purposes," he managed to say. "You said that you spend time away from me on purpose because you can't stand the way I act when we are together. Your focus on that magazine is what pushes me to act the way I do when you're with me, so that I'll get your attention in one way or another."

She pursed her lips. "Then what is there to discuss? You know I'm not going to give up _Runway_, and if tonight was any indication, you're not going to stop your deplorable behavior. You complain to me when I'm not able to spend time with you, but then when we are together you often find ways to do things to embarrass or upset me."

"Actually, the way I behaved earlier tonight was what I wanted to talk to you about. But you said we could talk when you come to bed, so-"

She smirked. "By all means, go ahead. You've succeeded in capturing my interest."

He wasn't sure if he should be worried or relieved that she was willing to listen to him then, but he continued anyway. "I admit that I acted terribly at the benefit. I want to apologize for that."

"I see," she replied, somehow managing to look both amused and bored simultaneously. She clearly was holding out for more than just a simple apology.

"I had too much to drink-" he continued.

"That was obvious," she snapped, "to me and almost everyone else in attendance at the benefit."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. How could he make her understand that he was sorry for what had happened if she wouldn't even hear him out? "I shouldn't have allowed myself to get drunk, but I was upset. We've been married for years, but no one knows who I am when we go out together because you're never actually with me at events like the one tonight. If someone realizes that we're married, they call me "Mr. Priestly", like that's my last name instead of your maiden name. If we are together in public, the attention is always on you or your job, never anything about me, even though my job is also important and well-paying. How do you think that makes me feel?"

A dark look came over her blue eyes. "Well, allow _me _to apologize now. I'm sorry that you didn't enjoy the benefit that you insisted on accompanying me to, that you weren't able to engage anyone in a conversation about your fascinating career. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to be by your side the whole night and prevent you from becoming intoxicated. I'm sorry that I failed make sure it was clear to all of the guests that you are my husband, and that your last name is Townsend. And I'm definitely sorry that I was too busy _hosting _the little affair to notice that you weren't content, because if I had, I might have been able to stop you before you humiliated me in front of a good number of my lovely guests." Though her voice was quiet, each word was laden with so much contempt that it made no difference how softly it was spoken.

"Miranda, please. I'm-"

She held up her hand, successfully silencing him again. "I had no problem with you coming to the event with me. I welcomed your company at first, actually, because I was deluded enough to think that you might help me with my hosting duties like you have in the past. I didn't mind when you disappeared into the crowd soon after we arrived. I understand how tedious events like the one we went to tonight can be. It didn't even bother me that you had too much to drink. You're a grown man; that was your prerogative." She took several steps towards him, her fists clenched and her nails digging in to her palms in barely suppressed rage. Her voice was still deceptively low. "What I _do _have a problem with is you choosing to humiliate me in public."

"I've told you how much I regret that," he said in a rush. "Please understand that I wasn't thinking clearly. If you'll just forgive me, I promise I'll do whatever it takes to make sure nothing like that happens again."

"I'm afraid that won't matter," she stated.

He blanched. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't let me finish what I was saying before. Not only did you humiliate me in front of the guests, you also put my career on the line."

"What? How could I have done that?"

"Oh, you don't remember?" she asked scornfully.

"I'm afraid I don't," he replied with a gulp. "I remember a confrontation, but I couldn't tell you who it was with or what it was about."

"How convenient for you that you don't recall personally singling out my boss and insulting him to his face. Irv was _not _pleased with the way you spoke to him." Then, she added, her tone heavy with sarcasm, "But, no matter. You've already apologized to me and asked my forgiveness. There's no need to repeat all of that."

He treaded carefully as he began to talk again. "I can't really remember what was said. I can see how upset you are, so I'm sure it must have been bad. But I don't understand why you think my behavior put your job at risk. You've been one of Irv's favorite editors for years. _Runway_ is one of Elias-Clark's top publications. He knows you; he knows how much that magazine means to you. You're right, I'm an adult. I should be held responsible for my own actions, not you. He wouldn't ignore what you've done with that magazine and the history you have with the company simply because I said some regrettable things to him."

"_Au contraire, _darling," she spat. "I seem to have fallen out of favor with Irv lately. As you mentioned, I've been _Runway_'s editor-in-chief for years. That's the problem. I think he's beginning to wish that someone with a fresher, more youthful perspective on the world was heading it. I also recently chose to pull one of the layouts that was set to appear in _Runway _and ordered a completely new one. It would have been disastrous not to make the change, as the pictures from the first shoot were repulsive, but Irv didn't understand that. All that he could see was that I wasted hundreds of thousands of his company's dollars. Your failure to hold your liquor tonight was just the icing on the cake."

"I had no idea. I'm sorry."

"I know you didn't," she stated, and added in response to his second statement, "and you most certainly are."

He felt too defeated to say anything in response. He had tried his best to give her a heartfelt apology, but she didn't seem to care, or even notice. He felt exhausted, saddened to realize that, once again, instead of reaching some sort of reconciliation, they had only been pushed further apart. The most terrible part of it was that he knew, at least as far as the present situation was concerned, that he was to blame for the growing rift between them.

Her next statement caught his attention and drug him away from his thoughts. "You know, I wouldn't be surprised if Irv wants to speak with me privately tomorrow about the benefit. If you're tempted to give him one of your pathetic apologies, restrain yourself; I doubt he wants to hear from you. I'll handle the situation the best I can, by myself. Right now, I'm going to go upstairs. I'll need to be as rested as possible to face whatever tomorrow brings," she said and breezed past him.

"I thought you were going to finish checking the Book first," he stammered, struggling to keep her in the room, still hoping to find some way to get through to her.

She paused and turned to fix him with a glare. "I'm tired and I have more important things to worry about right now. I'll finish it in the morning. I'm going to bed. It would benefit you immensely not to join me."

"Miranda . . ." he tried one last time, but she was already in the hallway.

"That's all," her toneless voice drifted from the stairs.

He waited until she had finished ascending the stairs and shakily made his own way downstairs. Once he was in his office, he took a pillow and a blanket from the closet there. He could have also gone upstairs, to the guest bedroom there. It probably would have been more comfortable than his office, but he lacked the courage it would have taken to climb those stairs after her and sleep in a room so close to where she was. Besides, he was used to napping on the couch in his office from the times when he worked late at night and needed a quick break before he finished something up. That night was not the first time he had been refused admittance to their bedroom, and most likely would not be the last. He slumped down on the leather couch, continuing to hold the objects he had retrieved in his arms.

He still loved her. He wondered if she still loved him. He knew that he still loved her; he could easily remember when he had first fallen in love with her several years before, when he began to look differently at the passionate, fiercely independent woman whom he had befriended, once he learned that she and her second husband were getting divorced.

But she had changed . . . they had both changed, though they had yet to reach the sixth anniversary of their marriage. She was no longer the woman he had married, and that fact had turned him into someone he neither recognized nor respected. He supposed that sometimes loving someone else was simply not enough.

FIN


End file.
